


Finding the Motivation

by impish



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Community College AU, Depression, F/M, M/M, Modern But Magic, Motivational Speaker John, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish/pseuds/impish
Summary: John’s career crashed and burned. He couldn’t lay depressed in the ruins forever. Now, slightly less depressed, he goes to Starblaster Community College to give motivational speeches like he used to. But it doesn’t feel the same. And is everyone he meets going to make him feel so... out of place?
Relationships: Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone), Merle Highchurch/The Hunger | John, Past Davenport/Merle Highchurch
Kudos: 14





	1. First Day

The dimmed lights come up in the classroom, changing the room’s hue from focused blue to a glaring yellow-white. 

John hates fluorescent lights. He’s always happier with whatever is at his disposal for when he makes his speeches. Could be a steady, reliable glow of a projector screen; a somewhat flashy, but very effective spotlight; even a flattering professional studio, white light showing every silver hair.

This particular day, the projected presentation behind him set his stage. And now it’s over. Every student in the seats perks up a little bit, the lack of darkness creeping in and snapping them out of any dazes they may have found themselves in.

The moments after a speech or presentation used to stroke his ego. He’d see hands raise with follow-up questions, he’d watch the information settle into people’s minds, satisfactorily stimulated. He’d feel like he’d truly helped people, like there was something amazing in seeing people learn—

Now? He spots at least three people yawn. And this class is not a large one. The ratio is insulting.

He clears his throat.

“So this summarises how a clear view of the self can help you achieve your goals...” John says, glancing once more around the room. “Any questions?”

The silence is painful for everyone. Everyone except John.

It would be painful, if John still cared enough to be hurt by it. 

He still gets teachers, lecturers, HR Professionals... whoever hires him or whatever authority member watches over his audience, they come up to him and apologise— “I’m so sorry, they’re just shy.” Or “I did see a few of them taking a lot of notes!” Or, even worse, “They loved every bit, I could tell.”

(As if they really think that they’ve hired the one motivational speaker and philosopher who cannot read a room.)

Speaking of teachers—

“Okay everyone, that’s our time. Thank you, John, for that great show-“ Mr Bluejeans steps in to let the class go, trying to encourage applause, but only managing to get a few claps echoing throughout the room. The science teacher seems to notice John’s involuntary frown at the choice of words. “Uh, show of, of— wisdom? Uh, okay— see y’all tomorrow!”

The attempt at a smooth recovery coaxes a smirk from John. He starts to pack up his laptop as Barry Bluejeans shuffles around to avoid the stampede of students.

“Seriously, man, thank you for taking this gig— if that’s the name for it or whatever. If you managed to help at least one of those guys stay in this college, you’d be doing us a huge favour.” John doesn’t look up while Barry says his piece.

“It’s not a favour, I’m being paid,” John quips, standing up straight, swinging his laptop bag onto his shoulder. “And you don’t need to thank me. We have no idea if this will yield any results just yet...”

“Ah, y’mean cause their eyes glossed over a little at the end?” Barry says, making John snort, pleasantly surprised at the honest tone. “They can’t sit through too much info at once, sometimes— I save my best shit for ten minutes into the lesson, and it can’t be longer than a half hour.”

“I’ll... bear that in mind.”

John isn’t sure what else to do. This is one of the longest jobs he’s taken: he’s delivering speeches and “insight sessions” in this community college, and the feeling of being trapped, unable to bounce from contract to contract— the limits. Knowing he’ll likely see Barry and another one of his classes sooner than normal, breaks his usual patterns.

In John’s hey-day, he’d wrap up his speech, say a charming goodbye and ensure the contact details his client had were up-to-date so he could return in due course. That used to be weeks, or months, he’d be fully booked. Now he’s staying in this building, and it’s a stifling reminder of his insignificant role in the universe.

Snapping back into the moment, John realises that Barry’s been holding his hand out for at least 4 seconds.

“Well, see ya...” Barry says, about to retract his hand, when John grabs it for a handshake. He gives a firm grip, a slight nod and a quick goodbye.

‘I need some fresh air’

________________________________________________

“Well, I don’t care babe! A hairless cat can wear sweaters to match any outfit,” John overhears a lilting voice, watching the impeccably-dressed elf making hand movements and speaking into his farspeech device. “We cannot only have black cats just because you are a Goth King. We are not re-hashing the ‘why-did-you-magic-my-cat-to-be-purple’ argument.”

The elven man sways his way through the entrance as John finishes his last deep drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out on a nearby plant pot, partially burying the butt in the soil. Almost hypnotised, he watches as the bugs come to investigate the foreign object in their home, he has a passing thought about how their world is so huge, their place is so—

“Excuse me, sir?” His train of thought is destroyed by a small voice and a young boy entering his line of sight. His round glasses and strangely formal dress... John shakes the passing thought that he seems smarter than the entire student body of this college. He realises he hasn’t responded to the boy.

“... Yes? Are you lost? I’m not the best person to ask, if I’m honest.”

“I’m not lost, sir. I may be young, but I know what I’m doing,” The boy says, and John is unsure of whether to apologise or not. “I was wondering if you were aware that it’s illegal to smoke under 20 feet away from the entrance of a public building?”

John needs to take a beat to formulate any kind of response. 

“I wasn’t aware. Thank you. It... won’t happen again.” John lets out a slight cough, looking towards the entrance for his way out of this strange confrontation.

“A big clue is the ‘No Smoking’ signs.” The boy says this without a hint of mockery, pointing at a sign just behind John. The man turns to look at the aforementioned sign, and as he does, he sees the elven man again.

John is slightly taken aback when his eyes meet the elf’s - all he can do is watch as he’s given a once-over with narrowed eyes. He’s unsure what he’s done to earn this mysterious man’s suspicion. Then he watches the eyes dart to the boy.

“Ango, my dude, I can’t believe I’m still having to teach you to stop harassing old men. Most kids your age are learning ‘stranger danger’.” The elf looks back at John. “You wouldn’t have to deal with this shit, or your unfortunate lip lines, if you quit smoking.”

“Taako, sir, you now owe the swear jar 36 Gold.”

Angus trots after the elf - Taako? - and John is once again left wondering if his life choices are actually improving, or if he was better off sitting in the ruins of his former glory.

But one can’t dwell on things like that when he’s using work as a crutch for his sanity.

John makes his way to his next meeting. 13:30, Classroom 7B, Professor Davenport’s class. Same spiel. Same reactions. Same old, same old... Or so he expects.

_______________________________________

“Any questions?”

Once again, John is met with silence. Professor Davenport, however, is bold enough to take it as an opportunity.

“Okay, class. Maybe we just need to come up with some questions for Mr Hadar after a couple of activities. There’s still ten minutes of class left, after all.”

John takes a step back, going to his laptop and disconnecting it, starting the process of packing his work away. He can’t help but keep a curious eye on the gnome. Something in the back of his mind is angry, though. John can’t shake it, but he hides it as best he can. He used to have his pacing down pat - there shouldn’t be these gaps—

“We’ve all experienced setbacks, after all. It’s natural. I want everyone to think of that time in your life Mr Hadar mentioned: when you felt stronger for having gone through something. It’s not easy to think about these things, but—“

John tunes out the gnomes’ speech. At the edge of his field of vision, his eye is once again caught by the elven man from earlier. The day’s purple ensemble was not exactly what he would expect from a professor, but after hearing the name, the dots connected.

Taako, home economics and conjuration professor, leisurely leans against the door frame. It’s as if he’s posing, waiting to capture attention, which he naturally does.

John doesn’t feel things very strongly - but he recognises fear settle into his stomach. Taako’s class is next.

“Psst, Johnny-boy, do you have a moment?” Taako whispers. Or, at least, it’s an attempt at a whisper. Davenport’s head swings round, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “My bad, Cap’n, just need to borrow our little ray of sunshine here, you all done with him?”

“Yeah, yeah, just— yeah, go. I got this. Thank you for today, John.” Davenport waves them both away, trying to get his train of thought back and battle for the class’s attention.

John walks slowly out of the room, closing the door gently and stopping dead. He thought he was rusty at his speeches? His social skills leave more to be desired than a re-inflated Capri Sun pouch with only air inside.

“What did you need?” He tries not to come across as short, he feels like he should be wearing a sign saying ‘Sorry I’m not Myself Right Now’. He feels like he should have been wearing that sign for the last couple of decades.

“Class is taking place out on the field- if I’m going to have to sit through your... thing, I’m going to catch some rays and not feel completely cooped up, m’kay?”

All John does is nod, he looks back at the door, wondering why this needed to take place outside the classroom, or even why this couldn’t have been an email.

“I’m not really sure why The Powers that Be hired you, TBH. I guess like you said to Barold earlier, the proof’s in the puddin’ but... yeah, I don’t—“ And there it is. John frowns, he still keeps his mouth shut. It’s his first day, he’s not going to fight his corner so hard, he can’t be making waves. “Okay, okay. All I really want to know is... Why did you even come here?”

John can’t hold back a slight smile. He likes the straight-shooting style of this man, even if it makes him fear for his fragile reputation. He has to think.

“I... don’t know.” John offers his honest answer, feeling more sincere than he has all day. Taako’s appreciative smirk, albeit accompanied by a quirk of his immaculate eyebrow, shows John that may have been the right way to handle this. A small dose of hope ignites inside of him— maybe this was the right choice, his way back on track. But as always, the relief and the joy he could feel from that hope is muted and, as quickly as it came, it fades.

“Welp. That’s fair enough. I’ll see you in five.” 

Taako saunters off.

John has a headache. More fresh air is needed.

As he makes his way out of the building, he hears a tinny stereo playing something he can’t quite hear. He pauses for just a moment, but by the time he can recognise the song, he realises how fucking annoying it is. Who listens to music out loud with a door open? Who listens to very low-quality recordings of Jimmy Buffett out loud with a door open?

He continues on his way, stopping to lean against the wall once he’s in the fresh air. He glances around, grateful for the fact he’s mostly alone. It’s almost peaceful.

Getting five minutes to himself, to cherish the quiet, breathe deeply... it’s a luxury he’d have thought he’d had enough of. But the problem with loneliness? The problem with chronic, crushing boredom? It cannot be cured all at once, in one big dose of people, of having a purpose. John’s current outlook is that these things just cannot be cured.

So he lights up his cigarette, and with his first long drag, he closes his eyes and gently rests his head against the wall too.


	2. First Day, Second Try

It’s been ten minutes since his speech ended, Taako got a call on his stone of farspeech and wandered off. John heard something about the man being an entrepreneur, so John could respect this action. That, and he didn’t care enough to judge.

He just wished he knew what to do with the remaining students. Some left when Taako did, but some were staring up with blank, blinking eyes. He wishes this was in a classroom, fluorescent lights and all. It’s just weird how he didn’t have his visual aids, and how he had to stand in a field while everyone sat or lounged or lay down on the ground.

But the hardest part is that they seem to hang on to Taako’s every word, and while they didn’t listen anywhere nearly as intently to John, they were still... staring at him like that. Like they expect him to impart some kind of advice or wisdom. He may have missed the pay and the power, but he didn’t miss this pressure.

He’s still here, ten minutes after running out of wisdom to impart. Safe, memorised wisdom. He could carry on, Gods know he could enrapture the audience— or at least try to— like he used to. But he’s had that power before. No, he decides to take a leaf out of Taako’s book. Wordlessly, he just walks away.

These students are not his responsibility. They can figure it out.

So John just walks. 

The field is larger than expected. He sees a few people reading under trees, enjoying the late March sunshine, acting like it isn’t colder than it looks. He sees a couple of team sports- one he thinks is softball, and one he can’t quite recognise.

He takes pause, trying to work it out— basketball? Football?— he can’t tell. He tries to think outside of the box, or tries to figure out if it’s actually more than two sports, but they can only afford so much space? But there’s still so much space on the—

_THWACK!_

‘Thwack’ is an interesting onomatopoeia that completely interrupts John’s train of thought. 

Next thing he knows, he’s been struck on the head by the softball, which in fact is very very hard, especially when it had been flying inhumanly fast. Well, John would think it was inhumanly fast. It was faster than John could hit it.

“Buddy! You OK?” A gruff voice calls out. John realises he’s fallen to the ground, he hears footsteps running towards him.

“I’m fine.” John says, at a normal volume. He’s already embarrassed enough. He tries to enjoy one moment outside, to himself... and this happens. He tries to clamber to his feet quickly. John isn’t one for unnecessary fuss.

When strong hands grasp him under one armpit and on one elbow, the embarrassment grows. He feels resentful, he’s not monitoring or controlling his facial expressions, so he only notices he’s glaring daggers at the man helping him when it causes a twinge of pain in his eye.

“Let’s get you some help, huh? I am so so so sorry I’ve told Vicky a hundred times not to just uhhhh— whack all unbridled-like. That came out wrong. Are you that speaker Lucretia brought in?” The man rambles on.

John shakes the man off.

“Honestly, I’m fine. I can definitely walk on my own.”

“Oh yeah, uh, sorry again, for that...” The man shrugs, seeming bashful. “I’m Magnus Burnsides- I cover a bunch of stuff here. Phys Ed being one of them. Obviously.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” John says, not sure he put enough effort into making that sound sincere. “Look, it’s fine. Could you just show me where I can get some ice and then we can both get on with our days...”

“Oh, sure! I was taking you to the, uh— I guess it’s the nurse’s office?— anyways.” Magnus says. He has a warm smile, and John tries hard not to recoil at the friendly pat-on-the-back that is all too hard. Between the injury and the manhandling, John is no longer sure if this man is as nice as he seems. Nice men don’t normally end up with quite so many scars.

They walk together down the hallway, and by some divine punishment, Magnus leads John towards the tinny stereo room. As if this wasn’t already too much to deal with after starting his career again, all his weird interactions, the throbbing pain above his eye... now this additional headache.

He lets out a shaky sigh of breath, not caring that it’s audible. He closes his eyes as he sits on the chair by the door. He tries to keep himself together, stop himself from blowing up or crashing down by trying to focus on the room around him.

While he sits with his eyes closed, he has to start with the stereo— is that a cassette tape? There’s also a man humming along. He hears a gentle dripping of water and has to open his eyes.

There is a dwarven man, leaning over one of many plants with a small, handheld watering can. He’s facing away from the door, so he carries on with what he’s doing in blissful ignorance. The size of this particular plant pot is only a few inches below the dwarf’s shoulders. It should be more comical than it is, but... he suits it.

He’s wearing shorts and a tacky button-down shirt that just contributes to John’s headache - but John’s making an effort to drink all of this in, because this is one of the more curious people he’s seen all day.

And maybe it’s the head injury, but the man’s so full of life that John feels drawn to him. And slightly nauseous. And then the headache kicks in again.

“Hey, old man! You’re not a plant nurse, you’re a people nurse - get over here!” Magnus yells— well, maybe it’s not quite a yell, but the way it shakes John’s skull, it may as well be.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’. Keep your pants on. What happened? Another tragic Rebound incident? Need a—“ The dwarf wraps up his business with the plant and turns around at his own leisure, no sense of urgency. “... band aid?”

Once he’s facing John, he needs to take a moment. He doesn’t get a lot of new faces in here after the semester’s in its swing - sure, he gets faces he’s forgotten, but not so many new ones. But the dwarf kicks into action quickly, approaching John and pulling a stepping stool close so he can look at the fast-forming bruise very closely.

“Yeeowch, that looks nasty, Mags, what happened? You hit him?”

“No! It was an accident— Vicky, and a softball, you know...”

“Relax, relax! I’m messin’ with ya!” Then his eyes flick down from the bruise, locking with John’s, and Magnus no longer has his attention. “And what’s your name, buddy?”

John, once again, has to take a moment to formulate a response.

“John.” Apparently he was taking too long, since Magnus decided to cut in for him. But neither man look towards him, and the dwarf carries on like John had been normal and managed to say it himself.

“Nice to meetcha, John. I’m Merle Hitower Highchurch and I am gonna get you some ice.” Merle’s smile is wide, and John is taken aback by the way he pats John on the cheek as he hops down from the stepping stool.

“I’ll uh, leave you two to it. No idea what kind of shit those guys will have gotten up to since I’ve been gone...” Magnus starts walking backwards. “See you around, John. Merle.”

John finds himself staring at the empty doorway, feeling a little panicked. As much as he’d disliked his time with Mr Burnsides, he gets a distinct feeling that he doesn’t want to be alone with the shorter man. He’s unsure why, but John is starting to feel in over his head, and this is the nonsensical crux of it.

“Bye buddy!” Merle shouts over his shoulder, walking back to John with a few supplies in his hand. He smoothly kicks the door shut, and John unconsciously clears his throat.

“Uh...” Eloquent as always, for a man who talks for a living. John has no follow-up for this, but he figures the nervousness must be apparent on his face.

“Don’t worry, man. He’ll come back later! I just gotta take a look at you first.” Merle holds up a bright green popsicle stick and a small torch, getting on with his job and not really giving John a chance to correct him on the reason for his discomfort.

“Oh, that’s not it...” The lack of an appropriate opening apparently doesn’t stop John from issuing the correction.

“Oh, sure. You just not a fan of medical environments, bud?”

John glances around the room.

“Never seen a medical environment with quite so many houseplants, so no. That’s not it either.”

“Hey! They keep the air clean, mister. Now, uh, please shut up and follow the smiley face with your eyes.” Merle chuckles, and John blinks, searching Merle’s face for whatever he’s meant to do. Then he pays closer attention to the popsicle stick. It appears to have been coloured in with crayon, and a simplistic smiley face is drawn at the top.

John complies, once again, trying to keep himself calm and focus on the task at hand. ... Holding himself together in order to focus is kind of his MO as of late.

“You got a surname, John?”

“Hadar.”

“I can just call you John though, right? No Mr Hadar bullshit?” Merle’s hand lowers his tools for one second as he meets John’s eyes again. John gives him a small nod. “Awesome. What brings you here, John?”

“I was... I am a motivational speaker. I’ve been asked to talk to a few of the classes on various topics. They’re trying to increase student retention and satisfaction,” John sighs, looking once again over to the door. “If I’m honest, I know a lot of the staff think there was a better strategy that the budget could’ve gone on, but I’m here after all.”

Merle puts the stick and the torch down on his desk and hands John an ice pack.

“You don’t seem all that motivated. You okay there?”

Between Taako in the morning and Merle now, John is starting to get used to people here being very to-the-point. It’d be refreshing if John had better access to his emotions, and if John wasn’t busy dealing with the way it sets him back a few seconds to respond each time. He used to be so quick, so witty.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” John can already tell that won’t let him off of this hook. “I just had trouble sleeping last night. This is my first day, after all. Nerves.”

Merle’s eyes narrow, and John can sense that he hasn’t bought the half-truth, but he watches as the dwarf settles back into his easy smile with a shrug.

“Fair enough. I mean, you don’t look like a guy who’s been nervous a day in his life. Stressed to shit, sure. But nerves?” Merle must sense that John’s not understanding, but unwilling to ask for any elaboration. It would feel vain. “You’re so put-together! With the suit and the hair- which I’m sure looked great before you took a ball to the face... Good news is, no signs of concussion! Any headache?”

“... Slight,” John answers, still slower than he would’ve liked, because his mind tunes once again into the stereo. “The music isn’t helping much.”

“What?! This is Kenny Chesney! His music speaks to the soul, man! ... It’s meant to help chill people out, y’know?”

“... Then why is it on a shitty cassette tape?”

The music fills the silence as Merle tries to think of a comeback. John smirks a little, feeling more like his old self - clever, charming, charismatic - as he has all day.

“Because... you can’t get a mixtape if it’s not on a tape! I love my mixtapes. Everyone here loves my mixtapes!”

“Merle. You can make mixtapes on CDs.”

Once again, the music has to fill the silence, since Merle is reeling. It crackles slightly. Then the whole room is lit by Merle’s laugh.

“Alright, you got me there! Now you just gotta show me how to do that— let’s call it part of your treatment, huh?” If Merle hadn’t have said that, John isn’t sure he’d have remembered he was here for a head injury. He shifts the ice pack against his forehead, now uncomfortably aware of it.

“Not sure it’s going to need any treatment that’s that... long term.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Just some bruising, alternate hot and cold, yadda yadda, call a doctor if you get a sudden headache, yadda yadda. But for now, what do you want? Can’t give you a band-aid, it’s not bleeding.”

“Some make-up? It’s pretty... garish.” John smirks, sensing that this is more a game, or another way to keep himself talking, than actual discussion of treatment. He’s not complaining. 

“Not sure we’re the same shade, pretty boy. Besides, that’s not nurse shit.”

John doesn’t put in the effort to hide his reaction to ‘pretty boy’ - he raises his eyebrow and is clearly about to retort when the twinge of pain makes him wince. He wishes he’d bothered to mask that.

“Ouch, okay, try to keep still. I think I have one more thing that might help. Move your ice pack.” John does so. It’s not usually easy to give him emotional whiplash, because he’s not usually so present in moment to feel the emotions fully. But the way Merle snaps from jovial to caring is certainly confusing. Nearing emotional whiplash territory for John.

Merle’s on his stepping stool again, giving him a slight height advantage over John while he’s sat down.

Merle’s lips gently brush the bruise with a loud exclamation of “MWAH!” And John can feel the heat radiating from his own face. Merle laughs, and once John realises he’s laughing at the action and not the reaction, he lets himself smile and pretend that was funny, rather than the only physical affection he’s received in years.

“All better?” Merle asks, hopping down from his stool

“All better.”

After a couple of seconds, John feels a slight tingle in the place of the kiss. His mind wanders through possibilities, of its own accord. Menthol lip balm? Allergy to Merle? A spell?

“Just a little healing magic in that for ya. Not a biggie, but it should heal a little faster... still looks like shit though.”

John quickly puts the ice pack back on his face. Merle sorts out a few items on his desk, humming along to the music and eventually picking his watering can back up.

John is comfortable. More so than he was during his few moments of peace during the day, despite the headache, the injury, the background annoyance at the music and the humming. He deliberately ignores the clock.

“Always works for my kids. And my boy gets a lot of bruises— shit, that sounds bad, I just means he runs into shit a lot. He tackles people, too. He’s a tackler.”

John smiles, it’s small but it’s genuine. He opens his mouth to respond when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Merle chirps.

And Lucretia steps in.

“Hi Lucy!” 

“... Nope.” Lucretia turns from trying to shut that down from Merle, to eyeing John over. “Magnus said you’d be here, I was just checking you were alright.”

“Yes, ma’am, he’s all better now! Highchurch Healing, at your service!”

“Hm. OK. John, when you’re ready then, we’ll still have that meeting in my office. No rush, but... no dawdling either.” Lucretia turns to leave when she hesitates. “Glad you’re alright.”

With the click of the door, the two men are left in a silence that’s much less comfortable than before.

“I should...” “I guess you you should...”

Standing bolt-upright, the picture of composure (if you ignore him still holding the ice pack), John becomes highly aware of himself. He didn’t realise how relaxed his posture had been until he tensed up, he didn’t realise how his breath was shallow and careful until it had snapped back to normal at Lucretia’s interruption. But now he knows. And he has to choose not to analyse that.

John focuses instead on wondering how to end this interaction. He wishes he could just bolt out of the door and get back to discussing work. He considers this.

“Yeah, Johnny, you’ve got grown-up business to do. And I gotta say - cause I always gotta say - you do not have to injure yourself as an excuse to come and hang out, okay? No falling down stairs, no scraped knees. Guys our age can’t take that.” Merle opens the door and holds out his hand, ready to ask if John still needs that ice pack.

John misreads the outstretched hand.

“Noted. It was... nice to meet you.” John looks at the hand, and considering the everything about Merle... he administers an awkward and poorly executed low-five.

A low-five. 

Merle tries very very hard to not seem like he’s laughing at John. But he is.

“Okay, yeah! I can... I can roll with that. You keepin’ that ice, buddy? It’s cool if you need to, but... It’ll take ages to freeze another one.”

“Oh. Right.”

John gives the ice pack back. As soon as it is off his face, he feels extremely warm. He prays to whatever cruel God has orchestrated this that he will not faint or have any reason to return.

“Ha-ha,” John’s laugh is incredibly stilted. “I’ve got to go. It was nice to meet you. Merle.” 

John doesn’t run out of the door. For that, he can be proud of himself.

He did not, however, leave normally.

He walks briskly and shows the floor a tight smile before closing the door a little bit too hard. He leaves so quickly, he doesn’t even hear Merle say “You already said that, buddy!”. He doesn’t stay to hear Merle’s laugh again.

_____________________________________

The short walk to Lucretia’s office is not long enough to clear his head, but the steady stream of ‘Focus, John. You are a professional. Focus. Get through today. Get back on track. Focus’ in his mind gives him hope that it can’t get any weirder than this.

He barely registers the administrative assistant who guides him to sit down and wait while Lucretia is informed of John’s presence.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

“Ahem.”

John has guided people to the knowledge that willing yourself to focus can itself be a distraction. But being aware of traps doesn’t always save you from them.

He nods at Lucretia, standing in the doorway, and follows her into the office. He feels vaguely like he’s young again, called before the principal.

“You’re sure you’re alright, John?” Lucretia gestures for John to sit. He nods firmly. “Good. I won’t keep pressing you, I trust you to tell me if you... need support.”

John picks up quickly on the fact that Lucretia is not referring to the Vicky Softball Incident.

“Lucretia,” John shuffles in his seat, trying to correct his posture and display confidence. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought myself incapable. You can trust me to guide your students.”

Lucretia’s change of expression is unreadable as she opens her notebook.

“Okay. I wanted to discuss a few things, I don’t want to waste your time, so I’ll be frank,” There’s a pause, John makes a conscious effort to remain tall and confident under her gaze. “Do you think we made the right decision bringing you on board?”

John takes a moment to gather a response. He’s certain she expected this. She hasn’t picked up her pen.

“Yes. You’ve asked what I think, of course I think I should be hired. Of course I believe I can do some good here. Achieve what you’ve set out.”

“Of course,” Lucretia mirrors him. “So, has anyone mentioned your reputation? Or rather, your past?”

John breaks eye contact, but remains a picture of strength. He doesn’t notice himself clenching his jaw. If anything, he’s grateful for Lucretia. The adrenaline rush of being faced with these questions has cleared the fog in his mind more than anything he’s experienced in a while.

“Not outright, not really. The elven man, Taako, he... was strange. Nothing outright, but questioned why I was here.”

“Hm. Okay, and how did that go?”

“By my assessment...? As well as it could have,” John is about to carry on, but his sentence dies in his throat. With a strange determination, he revives it. “Look, Lucretia, I’m sorry, but wouldn’t it be wiser to do this later in the day? Or perhaps... tomorrow?”

Lucretia smiles.

“No need to apologise. I suppose I can just outright tell you... I wanted to make sure you were going to make it until the end of the day. Or until tomorrow. I know we have somewhat of a large task on our hands here, and I know this is the first position you’ve taken in some time. I wanted to keep a close eye, you understand?”

John huffs a short laugh, not trying to hide how insulting he finds that... but he can’t make a show of it either, because a part of him was questioning that too.

“I understand, but really? You can trust me to be professional. I’m on a contract, I’ll keep doing my job.”

Lucretia picks up her pen and starts writing notes. John notices offhand that it’s an organisational diary, rather than a plain notebook.

The silence hangs heavier when it’s punctuated by a scribbling biro.

John consciously reminds himself to relax his muscles.

“Right. Now we can be confident this is a good, longer-term arrangement... I have a strategy meeting about the school’s image on Wednesday and I would very much like for you to come along. It’s for all faculty members, and is optional for most, but you are a key element. I’ll ask Brad to email you the location and time details.”

John smiles, thin and wary at first, but it grows.

“Thank you, Lucretia.”

She holds out a hand. This is the first time all day he feels normal giving a handshake.

Some part of him lights up with a glimmer of hope that he will soon be back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! Much longer! Got away from me a little bit, there.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Hope people still appreciate this old man ship!

**Author's Note:**

> Right! Hope you enjoy! First two chapters are here off the bat, and the third one’s nearly done so that’s coming whether you like it or not. After that... who knows!
> 
> Also at the moment it’s a bit vague as the other people/classes/the speeches but I promise you that if you hang in there there is more interaction and more characters coming!!


End file.
